


fading night

by orphan_account



Category: Twilight Series - All Media Types
Genre: Bella and Edward 'switched', Bella is a vampire, Edward is a human, F/F, F/M, No one else is switched, Not life and death, Trigger Warning: Mild Self Harm, alternate universe- au, non-canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:01:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28983051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Of three things I was absolutely sure. First, Bella Swan Cullen was a vampire. Second, there was a part of her- and I didn't know how dominant that part might be- that thirsted for my blood. And third, I was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with her.AU, B/E. (Mostly) Canon relationships. Cross-posted on FFN.
Relationships: Edward Cullen/Bella Swan
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on another account.   
> On FFN by Erica Thrush, co-written by twilghtfanfics2020.

_That day:_

I couldn't see.

Through eyes blurred from tears, through air fogged with smoke, through a mind clogged with emotion, I couldn't see.

I choked down a sob as I saw the last of my father dissipate into the sky.

_The day after:_

I had lived eighteen years, but never had I felt something as strongly as those few emotions I felt when dad died.

_Next week:_

I moved in with mom.

_Sometime:_

Time went fluid. I ate, drank, slept, moped, didn't do anything, didn't say anything, dropped out of school.

Two months later (I'm not sure- it might have been more- or less):

"Don't stand at my grave and weep," I murmured, rocking back and forth on my chair. "I am not there, I do not sleep."

Tears burned under my eyelids.

"You know," said a voice from the doorway, "you'll feel better if you stop thinking of him."

I rounded on my mother, sharp, and perhaps unnecessarily so. "Have you?" I said rudely, not even bothering to wipe off my tears. "Is it working?"

Mom shivered. She was beautiful, even if burdened and grieving. Her prematurely gray hair fell a little short of her neck, framing her angular face. She was tall, taller than me, but I couldn't bother recall the exact height.

I was a burden on her. She deserved to live her life, not to be saddled with a blubbering teenager ten years after her divorce.

"Sweetheart," she whispered, dropping to my height level to make eye contact, "You aren't a burden. I love you- but you know that already, right?"

Right. Yes. My mother was extremely perceptive- something I'd inherited from her- and my thoughts must have shown on my face.

"I know," I muttered. "But you don't like this, me moping around in your house."

"You," she said, giving me a little shake, "are most welcome to do anything in our house. But yes, I do somewhat wish you would try to get on with life. Do you know what he wrote in his will?"

"Why else would I keep reciting that poem?" I demanded, blinking away yet more tears. "Do I look like a guy who randomly brings up death everyday?"

Mom grinned, though I could tell it was strained. "Do not pity the dead-"

"I know," I snapped. "Maybe if you hadn't drilled that into my head since I was about two-"

"Well, the point was for you to believe it!" Mom sounded frustrated, but then, who wouldn't? "Look. It's horrible, what happened to you. To us. I loved him as much as you did- yes, in past tense because he isn't in this world anymore- but I'm moving on! I'm working, because I have to!" She slammed her fist onto my desk. "This is it. You're going to school tomorrow."

I fell out of my chair. "School?" I spluttered. "Tomorrow? I- it's the middle of the semester, mom!"

"Exactly. You've already missed two months and you will not miss more." Her face was set in stone, and I knew I couldn't win this argument.

That didn't deter me from trying.

"Mom," I said slowly, internally trying not to cry, "I'll be too far behind. Just let me wait out this year-"

"You were far ahead of your class in Phoenix. Do you think you'll have any trouble catching up here, in Forks?"

It was true. I knew it.

"But-" I started.

"No buts," Mom said, in a tone that indicated that our argument was over. "You are going to school-"

"Just give me the week!" I shouted, a tear spilling over my face.

"Edward," said mom, smiling a bit, "It's a Sunday. Haven't you been tracking the days?"

"I-" I flopped down onto the bed, dejected. "No, I haven't. Fuck. I'm not ready to do this."

Mom smiled. "Language," she admonished half-heartedly. "You'll never be ready unless you want to be, sweetheart. I'm here for you."

That was when I knew my fate was pre-written and already edited.

...

_The day I finally looked at the date:_

"Mom," I said, pouring my oatmeal into a bowl, "hey, mom, how do I get to school?"

She smiled that secretive smile that always put me on edge. "You'll see. She's outside."

"She- I'm going with a girl?" I felt my mood darken. Against all odds, I'd been excited to go to school. But company? Forget it.

"No," replied my mother, rolling her eyes. "She, as in a car."

"You bought me a car? Which one- is it fast?" In my sudden excitement, I accidentally upended my milk. "Oops."

"No problem," she said easily. "Yes, it's fast- better than that Vo- your last one," she corrected hurriedly.

I won't let anyone insult my dad's precious Volvo. I still had it; I won't let anyone throw it out. Too beautiful memories to discard, too many sentiments attached with the mangled wreck now sitting in a forgotten corner of the woods.

Mom wouldn't understand- she was too practical. Mind, not emotions.

"Thanks," I said hoarsely, realizing mom was waiting for an answer. "That- that's great."

"Do you need something?" she asked, seeming to know I wouldn't like to pursue the issue. "Anything?"

I shook my head and swung my schoolbag onto my shoulder.

...

It was a 2006 Ford GT. Somewhat careworn, but one of the best, fastest, most beautiful cars I'd ever seen. As much as I hated to admit it, perhaps even better than my Volvo.

I stood outside gaping like a dying fish, opening and and closing my mouth repeatedly.

"How?" I blubbered, probably slobbering over my brand new baby. "How- how'd you- this is fucking amazing, mom!"

She just smiled. "Your friend Jacob down at the reservation got it from one of the Cullen girls in exchange for their battered old truck. It just had a broken engine, two busted tires, a dented hood, squeezed up front seat... it was a horrible accident, believe me." She shook her head. "They kept it quiet, but I saw everything. Just- just thank god both of those kids got out alive."

"Who?" I asked, dumbstruck. All I knew- don't ask how- was they were rich, nothing else.

"The Cullens?" Mom guessed. "They're a huge family, moved down from Alaska a couple of years ago." She grinned suddenly. "See? I got you to pay attention to something for once."

"I pay plenty attention to death," I muttered.

...

I'd always hated Forks, but now, I was glad to be away from Arizona's eerily haunting desert lands. There was something beautiful about the way rain masked tears, the way paleness wasn't attributed to illness, just normality.

There was something beautiful about the way everyone knew me but didn't know me enough to ask, to prod, to bring back piercing memories, sharp and painful like a knife to the chest.

My classes went smoothly. I had been one of the top students back in Arizona, and the level was pretty low here anyway.

I excelled in English, as per usual. And though the Geography teacher started with a pop quiz about States and Capitals, which I loathed, he made a good impression on me anyway.

Gym wasn't so bad. We were playing baseball, which was about the only game I was good at, and that was because I was great at running between the bases.

"You know," Mike Newton said, grinning at me, "You could try out for the school team- trials are on Saturday. I'm captain."

"You know what?" I said, probably unexpectedly, "I just might."

...

I walked into lunch right after my first music class. Mike had offered me a seat at her table- the nerd table, she'd called it, with Mike and some other kids who's names I'd forgotten. I accepted, of course, though I'd rather sit alone. I didn't want to seem too rude in the face of this friendliness.

I was ruminating on the non-existence of chocolate chip ice-cream in the desert menu, torn between Butterscotch and Vanilla.

That was when I saw them.

Beautiful, deathly pale faces, perfect hair, the most expensive clothes in the school. So different, yet just the same. Not talking to anyone, barely even eating anything.

There were five of them- two blondes and three brunettes. I immediately sorted them into couples- that much was obvious from the way they acted. The huge curly haired guy and the statuesque blonde beauty, they were the jock and cheerleader type, I could tell. Then there was the small pixie-ish girl and the tall blonde boy who seemed to be related to the other blonde girl- they were the nerd couple, most likely, with a beautiful-but-deadly feel to them.

It was hard to tell who was the most attractive- one of the blondes, I supposed- but my thoughts lingered on the fifth wheel- the cute girl whom I couldn't get a read on, at all. She had long chocolate brown hair and an expression which I instinctively recognized to be an avid readers. I didn't know why I was compelled towards her- she was beautiful, of course, but they all were.

"Who are they?" I hissed to Mike.

He grinned. "Seen the models? They're Dr and Mrs Cullen's kids. The Hale twins- that's the blonde ones- Jasper and Rosalie, I think they're just fostered or something-"

"So's the big curly haired guy, Emmett," said another girl. Jessica, I remembered. "I think Alice- the pixie- was adopted, and I'm pretty certain Bella's their real kid, but I'm not sure. It's hard to keep track of these things."

"And they're all together," the girl named Angela informed me. "Jasper and Alice, I mean, and Rosalie and Emmett."

I was right, then. I often was. But that wasn't the question on my mind. "What about the last one- Bella?" As I watched, she raised her eyes at me, and then just as quickly, looked back down at her non-existent lunch.

"She's single," said Mike, wagging his eyebrows suggestively. "But don't bother, she doesn't date."

Lauren sniffed. "I think she's gay," she said snottily.

"So?" Jessica fired back. "Any problems with that?"

"I wish Alice was gay," Angela Weber said dreamily. I wasn't sure, but I thought I saw Emmett laugh while Jasper ground his teeth.

I regarded Angela out of the corner of my eye. She didn't look it, but she was pretty sharp. She broke up Jessica and Lauren's fight before it escalated, and in a way no one could suspect her motives.

Mike smirked.

I was summarily informed that Angela was 'unconditionally and irrevocably' in love with Alice, and I shouldn't be going down the same path.

To my own chagrin, I blushed. "I don't date much," I said, reminded, with a pang, of the similar talk my father and I had last year. "And Alice doesn't seem my type anyway."

"I should hope not," Mike muttered. "That guy Jasper- he looks like he'll kill anyone who gets near his precious girl."

"He beat back Austin once," Jessica said conversationally, the almost-quarrel with Lauren forgotten. "Well, both of them did. Even I could see he was getting too annoying."

Eric grinned. "Believe me, it was amazing. Almost worse than that time Samantha hit on Emmett- oh, boy, that was the greatest thing thing I'd ever seen."

I smiled, tuning out the rest of the conversation. As much as Jasper and Alice interested me, I was intrigued by the thought of someone else. When I turned to look at her, I found Bella Cullen was staring at me too.


	2. Chapter 2

_ 3:20, late to bio: _

I tapped a finger against my stupid map, frustrated. I was really, really horrible with directions. Also, orientation. And those little signs, and the color coding, and the bloody arrows...

“Where's bio?” I asked Jessica, giving up on trying to figure out the intricate lines and symbols in the rubbish piece of shit. “I mean, I think Angela told me in the morning, but-”

“The second classroom in the right wing, just over there.” She grabbed my hand and pointed in the general direction of the world. I threw her a confused look. “Oh, forget about it.” She huffed. “Just follow Eric- the Chinese guy- I assure you, _he_ wouldn't lose the way.”

I nodded thankfully and hurried after Eric Yorkie- I remembered him already. He was the one who'd recounted Rosalie's thorough bashing of Samantha- a bit shy, perhaps, but nice enough, and a damn good storyteller.

I didn't sit with him. He scuttled off to his seat, I assumed, next to a short boy with dark hair, and threw me an apologetic glance. I looked around, confused, until I registered how full the classroom really was.

The only empty seat, I saw with apprehension, was next to Bella Cullen.

Not that I'd normally mind sitting with a beautiful, alluring girl, but right then, something looked _extremely_ off with her.

Or, well, maybe something was off with me.

She sort of spasmed as I slid next to her, her hand moving automatically to cover her nose. She scooted to the very edge of her seat and stared away from me, looking as if trying not to breathe. Her eyes, I noticed vaguely, were darker than the color of obsidian, contrasting sharply with her pale face.

I was puzzled, and confused, and maybe a little hurt. I wondered if I'd forgotten to brush my teeth today.

“Hi,” I tried. Bella Cullen made a sound halfway between a snarl and a gargle, and I thought if she got away any further, she'd fall off the seat.

“Please,” she rasped, pinching her nose with her fingers. Her voice was musical, even so. “Banner- lecture- leave me alone.”

I turned away. Maybe she knew me somehow. Maybe she didn't want to be associated with the moody, emotional son of the police chief, the one who seemed to bring bad luck wherever he went.

I couldn't pay attention to Mr Banner. It wasn't as though she mattered to me, but it hurt anyway, her- rejection? Dismissal? More than rude attitude?

I didn't talk to her either. As much as I tried to hide it, it really, really hurt.

.

She was out of the class as soon as the bell rang, without so much of a glance at me. I picked up my papers slowly, trying to process what had just happened.

“Edward Masen?” called Mr Banner, and I looked up to see him looking my way sympathetically. The rest of the classroom had cleared, I noted.

“Yes, sir?” I said. I hoped he wasn't going to report to mom about my inattention in class.

“The Cullens don't interact well with other children,” he told me, getting straight to the point. “Not that the personal affairs of students are any of my concern, but I don't want anything to interfere with biology.”

I glanced down, mortified.

_ Getting home: _

I didn't realize that I'd been sort of enjoying school, at least until I got home.

It was like ripping open a scabbing wound, as dramatic as it sounded. At school, at least, there were no reminders, nothing to make me sadder still when I was sad already.

The depression and grief that had been burdening me for the past some time came crashing back down on me, filling me with water, making me drown.

I realized it had never stopped hurting, not really. The quote all but popped into my mind.

_ Numbing the pain for a while will make it worse when you finally feel it. _

It hurt still, and it wasn't that shallow, vapid hurt I felt when Bella Swan didn't talk to me.

It hurt even harder when I thought of her.

I slammed shut the door, trying not to see the neat collage of dad, his smile, his laugh, him taking me hiking, him holding me as a kid, dad...

Everything about this house was too much. The stupid collage was too neat and my room was too big and it hurt, and it hurt _a lot_. Everything reminded me of him today.

I fished around in my pocket for my phone and dialed the first number I could think of.

“Jacob Black talking, in case you didn't know that already,” said the boyish voice on the other end, and despite myself, I smiled.

_ Evening. Twilight, when the day ended: _

“So,” said Jacob, greeting me outside his house, “what's up, Eddie?”

I groaned. “Please, Jacob, refrain from calling me Eddie in the future. It makes me feel like a kindergartner.”

He laughed, brushing his long hair from his eyes. “Looks like you could use a return tip to kindergarten, man. What's got you so down?”

“I just- I just needed a friend, I guess.” I shoved my hands into my pockets. I hated to talk about my feelings. “You are the only I guy I properly know around here, so...” I shrugged vaguely.

Jacob smirked slightly. “Need to hash out some shit about girls?”

“You're younger than me, Jake” I pointed out. “But yeah, there is this girl in my bio class- ugh, that's not what I want to talk about.”

There was this way Jacob had always made me feel at ease, even when I'd been like nine and afraid of ducklings, and when I'd forgotten to tell dad to pick up his laundry... but I digress.

Anyway, what was nice about Jacob was that he _understood._ He'd gone through pretty much the same thing as I had when he was younger, when Sarah Black- whom I used to fondly call Aunt Sirius due to my obsession with a certain fictional character and the striking similarities between the two- had gone to the grocery store and never returned. I'd been there for that funeral, just like he'd been at dad's.

He'd been a nightmare back then, swollen eyes and sunken face and permanent dark circles, and I didn't think I was any better now. I hated myself for it, but I wanted to flee, to just- to just run, maybe to Hawaii or to Bombay or London, to just let go. To numb the pain permanently instead of overcoming it.

Like Rachael and Rebecca had. Like Jacob wouldn't, because he was an infinitely less selfish person than I was.

“Bella Swan, huh?” Jacob sat on an upturned box in his garage, showing me his newest car in the making. “She's real hot, obviously, but man, she wears some horrible perfume, like rotting eggs or something.”

“Funny, now that you mention it,” I grumbled. “She looked at _me_ like I stank, but- hey, wait, how'd you know her?”

Jacob rolled his eyes. “Bella and I go way back, Eddie. She and Rose are regular- well, only customers here.” He twisted some wires in his project. “Dad doesn't like it, but... did you know that's how you got your car? Dad didn't let me keep it even why I repaired _everything,_ and I'd even sold my truck to Bella- then Aunt Liz intervened and bought it from me.”

“Does mom visit you guys often?” I asked him, toying idly with a spare wrench, and trying to sound nonchalant. “How's she with Billy?”

“Well, since the horrible dating fiasco of 2002-” we both grimaced together- “they've been just friends, thank fuck. I mean, not that I'd mind you as a stepbrother, but Aunt Liz? I mean, as much as I like her, I'd rather her be my fun aunt- no offense.”

“None taken.” Actually, I was rather touched by him not minding me as a stepbrother. “I think I gotta go- you reminded me of mom, she'll be worrying.” I stood up and smiled. “Nice meeting you, Jake. You really helped.”

He grinned back. “Anytime, bro. I'm here for you.”

_ A week later: _

I grew angsty, irritable- to the extent that only Angela was willing to sit by me at school anymore.

My grades were still perfect. Mom was proud of me. Mr Banner congratulated me on being able to work so well, even without a partner.

Maybe the reason was her- Bella Cullen. Maybe it was just about not having dad greet me when I came home, not eating his signature burnt waffles. Maybe it was just about losing someone I cared about. The wound wasn't healed yet, though it was healing.

But I hadn't seen _her_ since the whole biology debacle, and try as I might, I couldn't stop that from hurting, either.

_ When time went on: _

I visited Jacob every week. He became a source of comfort for me, if nothing more. In truth, I thought often with pangs of guilt that I confided in him more than I did in mom, and I related more. Jacob, as I said before, understood.

_ Thirty Three days since I'd joined Forks High: _

After thirty-three days since I'd joined Forks High, a paper fell out of my biology notebook.

I hadn't noticed her write it. And to be honest, my attraction was giving way to anger whenever I thought of Bella Cullen now.

It was just four words, but it made me feel better. Or at least, it made me hurt less.

_ Not your fault. Sorry. _

_ -B.S.C _

I wondered what the 'S' in her name stood for.


	3. Chapter 3

__

__

_ Two days later, in the cafeteria: _

I drummed my fingers on my notepad, restless. That stupid note had given me a sense of hope, ridiculous as that sounded. Was I really that dependent on her, on a _girl_ , for my happiness? Did it matter?

Anyhow, I was happier.

“Are you fine, Edward?” Angela asked, leaning over to get my eraser. “What's up?”

“What is?” I asked, biting on a fry to hide my grin. “As far as I know, nothing.”

She pushed her work away and looked up at me, a strange kind of shrewdness in her eyes. “You were angsty and irritable for whole of the week- not that I minded- and now you're, like, cheerful, all of a sudden. You're grinning. You're _happy_. So blame me if I think something's up.”

I smiled. Angela and I, we'd been those sort of people who just clicked. Immediately. She drew great. My compositions were prized artpieces, at least according to her. We'd even joked that when we were older, we'd make an anime musical together.

Cheesy as it sounded, it felt like we'd known each other ages.

“Nothing,” I repeated, still grinning. “Well, nothing much, that is.”

Angela nodded and returned to her drawing. That was another thing I liked about her- she didn't pry.

To calm my restless heartbeat, I leaned over her shoulder to look at what she was making today. She smiled without looking up from it.

“I knew you'd do that.” Was I really that transparent, or did she just know me too well? “Can you tell what it is?”

Of course I could. Even half-made, it was exquisite, and left me with that strange sense of melancholy for something I hadn't seen, made, or had been related to in any way.

“The nuclear bombings,” I said, tracing my finger over an unshaded part of her artwork. “Japan, 1945. Which one is it?”

“Does it matter? It's nuclear, and it destroyed, and that's what I want to show.”

I understood. Artist thing.

“It's amazing.”

She pushed her glasses up her nose. “I can't get it right yet. I mean, sure, it's identifiable-”

“More that that.”

“-but there's something wrong. I can feel it.”

I understood. Again. Artist thing, because I'd felt it. Sometimes, my music would seem beautiful, even flawless to the listener, and yet there would be something without a name or definition that would irk me, make me rewrite it over and over again.

Artist thing.

“Well, you'll get it. That's just how you go, right?”

She nodded, already on it.

…

It was somewhat weird, and anticlimactic, and rather surprising that Jessica Stanley caught me up after lunch, to ask if I was interested in going to the spring dance with her.

I had, of course, been aware of the dance. It simply wasn't true that I'd fantasized about running off to Seattle that day because I didn't know about it. Contrary to public opinion, I cared _very_ much about dances.

So of course, the words that came out of my mouth after Jessica's invitation were, “Is it a dare?”

She blinked, probably already regretting asking me. “No,” she said, stepping back. “I want to go with you.”

“I thought you were interested in... someone else.” And that someone else was very interested in _someone else_ , but Jessica knew that.

“I am. But you're, like, option number two, so...”

“She'll go with you if you ask her.” The words were out of my mouth before I could even think about them. Jessica's expression morphed into silent disbelief, then irritation.

“She, who? Your best friend? I've given up on her, Edward.” Jessica sniffed. “She's so wrapped up in who she can't have that she won't even consider who she _can_ have. It's stupid.”

“Cut her some slack,” I snapped. I didn't even regret it when she winced. “You haven't talked to me for the past month, Jessica, and now you're asking me to the dance and trying to shit on my best friend? How can you expect me to say yes?”

“You're not the only one who suffers around here, Edward Cullen,” she bit back, a second too late. “You act as if you're so great, important, like you know everything- well, you don't. Have fun going alone, idiot.” She whirled around stalked off, leaving me seething.

I shoved my hands in my pockets. For a moment, I could have sworn I felt someone's gaze on me, but I didn't care. My eyes were beginning to fill up and I walked away, my head held down.

What troubled me wasn't the unwanted attention I'd gathered, or the way my irrational happiness had given away to angst yet again. It was the fear that Jessica Stanley, conceited as she was, might have had some weight to her argument.

_ Was _ I acting like a know-it-all? Was I bad enough that no-one would want to go to the dance with me? Was I regretting my refusal to Jessica because I feared the above possibility, or because I thought I had been too harsh with her?

Worst of all, was _I_ turning into the snob, believing I was above everyone here? Or in my suffering, was I ignoring how other people might be feeling the same?

_ It's stupid,  _ I told myself. _Jessica Stanley has a perfect life. Two great parents, a huge group of friends, boys panting over her at every turn. She has nothing on me._

Or was that the kind of thinking that made me uncaring to people's woes?

I'd never cursed my brain before. Or maybe I had, but I didn't remember. I was smart, I had always been smart, and I knew I prided on knowing that. But now, feeling the swirling mess of thoughts in head, I, for once, found myself wishing to be dumb, to _not_ know. To not be able to think of a stupid girl's accusations that felt like the truth.

Hell, who was I kidding? I'd felt this way many times before.

I stumbled into the parking lot, unthinking- or rather, thinking, and not knowing. I had algebra, but it wasn't like I cared about that.

I had a flask of hot chocolate in my car. Mom knew too well what could cheer me up, but that wasn't happening today.

Dad used to make hot chocolate, I remembered. He'd make it just right, not too sweet and not too bland and that perfect brown color I so loved. Just right. Mom made it the same way. I wondered if they'd shared that recipe back when they were together.

The hot chocolate reminded me of dad. Jessica, screaming, scolding me, unraveling me, reminded me of dad. And the shiny interior of the Ford reminded me of my wrecked Volvo and the salty tears dripping down my cheeks reminded me of when he'd kiss my forehead and tell me he loved me, no mattered how much I screwed up.

I wanted him to tell me he loved me still.

I didn't even realize that I'd revved the engine and was halfway out of the lot, and when I did, I didn't care. Despite the circumstances, I felt a sudden thrill at the thought of ditching school, for the first time.

I didn't call mom. I'd tell her later. She'd worry, but I deserved my privacy.

I didn't know how long I drove, but when the sky started darkening and raindrops hitting my windshield, I turned around and headed home. An unwritten melody bounced around my head, begging to be written down.

My phone vibrated in my pocket. Of course, like any electronics obsessed teenager, I checked it. And of course, like just about everything in my miserable life, it brought me down.

_ Edward,  _ I read, parking in a corner, _A fisherman on the pacific coast was killed today. The details are classified, but I'm needed for the investigation. Won't be home till late, probably. Sorry._

_ Love, Mom _

I laughed, loudly. I sounded deranged, crazy, even to my own ears.

As if I'd go home now. Mom was the only thing keeping me sane there, except for my piano. And didn't want to bother Jacob, and school had already ended, and I hated driving in the rain, so I turned my car around and stopped only at the diner.

I wondered, vaguely, about who had killed that fisherman.

...

_ Later that day: _

“Jessica Stanley, leave a message,” said the monotone voice at the other end. I sighed.

“Hi, Jessica, it's, um, it's Edward.” I cleared my throat. “I'm sorry,” I mumbled. “I overreacted. You're right. I was being a jerk. I'd, uh, love to go to that dance with you. Like, just as friends. I mean, if you want to. I'll make it up to you. Er, bye.”

I hung up.

…

_ Sunday: _

Mom didn't sleep much, and neither did I. I remembered being extremely excited whenever she was on a case, back when I used to spend the summer vacations with her. That, to my embarrassment, hadn't changed in the slightest.

I'd camped on the couch, lights on. Ever since that one night I'd woken up to see the house empty when I was five, I'd always tried to stay on top of things at night.

She got home at three, tired and visibly shaken. Even in my half-asleep state, I'd been lucid enough to notice that much.

She left before I woke up, approximately around seven. I still didn't know what that case was all about.

So the conclusion? I had an entire Sunday to spend on my own.

I chose the most logical option. I forced down some oatmeal, left mom a text, and drove to the library.

I couldn't have anticipated whom I'd find there.

(Though, of course, there was no reason Bella Cullen _wouldn't_ be in the Forks Town Library at the same time as I was, but it was totally unexpected anyhow. She looked great against the drab bookshelves, though I supposed she'd look great next to anything. But I digress, because I was getting totally off the point.)

I was buried in my work, trying to get a single note right. That was when she shook my world loose.

She was smiling when she sat next to me. She looked beautiful when she smiled.

“Hello, Edward Masen,” she said quietly. I noted she kept a careful distance between herself and me.

“Hi,” I said, as neutrally as I could, focusing on my music. “Bella Cullen, right? I got your note.”

I didn't know what prompted me to say that. I didn't- and I was getting really tired of saying this- particularly care.

“Yes,” she said, looking faintly embarrassed. “Yes, I- I just wanted to apologize. I'd have done so yesterday, but- uh, anyway, I- um, I behaved horribly to you, which you, like, totally don't deserve. So. Yeah. Sorry.”

I grinned despite myself. Her awkwardness seemed almost endearing to me. “It's fine,” I said. “Although I do hope to know what prompted that outburst.”

“Well, it was more of an inward collapsation, if you catch my drift. Is that even a word, collapsation?” She grinned back, rather abashedly.

If she was trying to distract me, it worked. “It seems to be, as I don't remember a another noun for 'falling together'.”

“Yeah,” she said, seemingly put at ease, “me either.”

Weird as it sounded, our ice-breaker was 'collapsation'.

She set aside her book. “About the collapsation? I think I will be telling the truth if I say it wasn't you, it was me.”

“I think I'd be telling the truth if I say I believe it.”

She smiled. It felt more real this time, genuine. I could almost ignore how she still looked as if she was constipated, or that her skin was pale, too pale to even be anemic.

Or how her eyes, which were jet black the last time I saw them, were a beautiful butterscotch color now.

I couldn't ignore it. But I tried to.

“Why did you leave?” I blurted out. “I mean, sorry if I'm being too insensitive-”

“No, no, it's alright.” But her smile had vanished liked the sun in this town. “I was visiting my cousins in Alaska.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You were gone a month.”

“Tanya had pancreatitis. They needed Esme and me for help.”

There was something shady the way she said it, but I chose not to pry. “Esme- your mom, right?”

“Yeah. She's amazing.”

We sat like that for a while. I didn't know about her, but I was sort of enjoying this.

She was the one to break the silence. “I'm sorry about what happened to you,” she said, staring at the table. “Your father- I didn't know him, but I do know your mother, and she talks to Esme often. I just wanted you to know I can relate.” She bit her lip. “I mean, all of my siblings- they- they lost families too. I sort of have that second hand experience.”

Suddenly, the ground seemed really interesting to me. “You don't know,” I whispered, my voice coming out impossibly soft. “It hurts. _I_ hurt. A lot. You don't know how much it hurts, but thanks anyway. Good to know someone suffered like me sometime.”

“Someone did,” she said. “Someone does. Someone always will. You aren't alone, Edward. My siblings are orphans. My cousins lost their mother. A distant uncle lost his wife, and he's never recovered. I mean, I've only ever heard of him, but... anyway, that's not what I meant. You'll get through it, Edward. Everyone does.”

“But what if I don't want to?” I didn't know why I was talking to her, telling her all these things I'd never told anyone before. Not even mom, or Jacob. “Bella, what if I don't want to? What if I want to hold on, to _not_ let go? What about it then?”

She shrugged. Not in indifference, I thought, but as if she was trying to shrug off pain itself. “It never goes away. And you'll lose your chance to try to forget.” It sounded like she had something stuck in her throat. “Believe me, forgetting is a blessing. Memory is the curse.”

“I don't believe that. I can't.” My heart was throbbing, and again, it hurt. It hurt everywhere. “Why do I mess everything up?”

“You don't,” she said, and I could almost see a tear in her eye. “I do. Edward, maybe it's best if I go.”

“No, I-”

A moment ago, she was sitting in front of me. I blinked, and then she wasn't, not anymore.

I stood up, kicking at the table. It made me hurt more, and I liked it that way.

“Fuck,” I muttered. “Fuck it, Edward Masen, you're the biggest asshole to exist in the history of the universe.”

Jessica was right. Just because I thought I suffered so much, I never even realized that others might be feeling the same way. The death thing clearly went deeper than just her siblings' pain for Bella, and instead of helping her through it, I just fucked it right up.

I picked up my music and ran out of the door, barely even heeding the rain. Why did it matter that my toenail felt broken or my hair was plastered to my face? Why did it matter that I could taste tears in my mouth? I hurt, but in that library, sitting with Bella Cullen, I thought maybe, she hurt worse than I did.

…

I got into my car, grabbed my phone, and swore worse when I realized I didn't have no way to contact her.

…

I fucking messed that up so bad.

…

Mom was home when I returned.

With one look at me, she hurried over and wrapped me in her jacket, and lead me to the couch, all the while promising me cookies. She plugged the space heater, even though it was, like, April, and sat with me, holding me while I cried.

There were bags under her eyes and her sandwich lay half-eaten on the table, and it comforted me that someone loved me enough to put me first.

It reminded me of when I was younger, when we used to be a family. When dad was alive, and they were together. Then they'd divorced when I turned five, and I hadn't even known what was happening, and dad got custody because mom was a single and working woman, and I was crying when I said goodbye, and mom kissed my cheek...

“Are you fine?” Mom asked, when my sobs quietened, and then laughed. “Yeah, I know, stupid question. Will you tell me-?”

“No.” I sat up, wiping my eyes. “Not yet.”

“You can talk to me, love,” she said, all warmth and motherly affection. “I won't judge.”

_ You mean, you would judge, but you won't tell me you will _ . “I know,” I said, smiling. My smile, as usual, was forced. She saw right through it, I think.

“Edward.” Her voice was still soft, but I could hear the reproach in there. “You've gone through something terrible. We both have. But you deserve to be happy. You don't want to die grieving. Think what he'd have wanted you to do.”

_ I don't think that matters anymore. And anyway, it wasn't him I was crying about. For once. _

I thought, maybe, if I thought it hard enough, she'd get it. Because I couldn't say it. Isn't that what they said parents could do? Look through me, through their kids?

She didn't. Because you'd have to be a mind reader to know that.

I got up, smiled again, and went upstairs. There were cookies after dinner.

I didn't sleep well. I dreamed, though.

She was in those dreams, Bella. She was crying, cursing me. She was crying about dead parents, about siblings, about how her eyes seemed to turn from yellow to black everyday. Then she lunged for me, and I woke.

I thought I saw her there, out of my window. Sitting on the hemlock like an angel in the pale moonlight.

Stupidly, I blinked. Just like in the library.

When I looked again, she- no wonder- was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

****

_ Monday, the day I don't fuck anything up. My favorite day of the week. Sort of.  _ _ (At least, this was a day when I hoped I wouldn't fuck up. I always do anyhow): _

I wish I could tell you that the next time I had my biology period, I was calm and collected and so very cool.

Alas, that was not the case.

I was positively freaking out before biology.

Jessica had a different lunch period on Mondays. I still hadn't received her conformation or denial, but she'd smiled at me across the parking lot in the morning. That had to count for something, right?

But it wasn't Jessica at the forefront of my troubles. No, it was someone else, and that someone was rooted into biology for me.

I contemplated skipping again, because I didn't think I could face her after all what had happened yesterday. I contemplated feigning illness, too, but I knew I wasn't an actor good enough for that. Finally, I just decided to wing it.

I didn't see her at lunch. Half of me was disappointed.

The other half was glad that I might not have to see her later today.

And I felt guilty for wanting her out of the school, or ill, or hell, dead- and then I just wanted to tell me to not give a fuck, and I felt guilty for that, and it went on and on in a stupid feedback loop, until I was sitting in the washroom minutes before bio, desperately trying to stop that traitorous water in my eyes from falling.

I hurt. I hid it, under my musician's brooding and the artist's cloak I'd flung over myself.

Hiding the pain didn't make it go away. It never did.

I needed the piano. I needed mom to hold me. I needed dad to kiss my forehead.

I was weary enough to barely even feel that undercurrent of embarrassment that was so good at bringing me down.

I tried to breathe. It hurt.

“She's gonna fucking blame herself for this, you know.”

I jumped.

As far as I knew, the washroom was empty.

But this... this was...

A flash of weirdly appropriate deja-vu, and I was back in preschool, when Heather Clansman had broken into the men's room for a dare.

It was a fucking _girl_ talking.

But it wasn't preschool, so I couldn't just get out there and demand she left.

Panic hit me like an iceberg in the sea. What if those two were here to fuck? How would I get into bio if they were?

My mind launched into various ways I could use it as an excuse without ratting out the couple involved. I barely even registered what the girl had actually said.

But somehow, when the guy spoke, I felt an unnatural but much appreciated calm settle over me. Completely random shit like that happened often.

“Do you think I could... give them a push?”

“You can't let her know. She'll think we're conspiring against her, the bitch.” I might've pressed my ear to the door by this point, inexplicably excited to be part of this mystery. “She'll never trust us again.”

“We can't let it go on this way.” A sigh, and the sound of boots scraping against the tiling. “If she can't get it this time, she's done. The end. Might not be... the uncles, but she'll lose it. She'll flip her shit.”

I pressed closer, feeling like a detective in a murder mystery.

“No, you're right.” A thump, and then that calm, again. “Do you think he's worth it?”

The guy seemed to hesitate. “I don't know. But that state she got home in, the... what she said?” I had the feeling this guy wasn't telling the whole truth, but wasn't lying, at least. About this, and the uncles, whatever that meant. “She's fallen, and I don't think I can throw her a parachute this time round. If he's worth it... I'll have to see.”

Feet shuffled against the floor. I held my breath till the sounded far enough, then sprang out of stall.

There were no signs of disruption. For all I knew, the janitor had just cleaned the place up. I shrugged, somewhat put in a better mood by my eavesdropping. Or it could be that artificial but so soothing calm...

I checked my watch. I still had about two minutes.

A sigh. Breathing deep. (Breathing hurt, I knew, but not as much as not breathing. I wasn't suicidal. Yet.) Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

One minute twenty.

I dashed out of the washroom. Fortunately, I had the route memorized.

Unfortunately, I also remembered it was a bit far away for me to reach in a minute.

A minute.

Spanish whizzed by, then History. I could've sworn I heard that same girl's voice reciting Shakespeare in Miss Sheldon's Literature class, but I was too hurried to check.

Thirty seconds seconds.

I crashed to a stop, panting, and swung into the biology classroom. Fortunately, Mr. Banner hadn't started yet.

“Emergency phone call,” I muttered, stalking to my seat. “Sorry, sir.”

Someone snickered. Mr. Banner threw me a reproachful look, and started lecturing us about the phases of mitosis.

I sank into my seat, gaze on the ground. Now that _she_ was next to me, again, I was feeling too scared to even look at her.

I'd done it before, mitosis. The practical was tomorrow, anyhow, so I didn't need to listen. I pulled out my music notebook and tried to shut Banner out.

Also, I might have been using music to distract me from the very beautiful and probably very angry girl sitting next to me.

One good thing about music? To me, it's as natural as taking notes in class.

My pencil flew across the paper. I think Banner was suspicious, but I sat in the back of the class, so he couldn't really be sure.

Across the table, fabric rustled. I couldn't help but sneak a look at her.

She glanced at me, too, and our eyes met. I blushed, ashamed to be caught peeping.

She smiled at me, playfully. Her hands worked on her notebook at superhuman speed, and after a few seconds, she tore off the page soundlessly and slid it towards me.

I looked at it, surprised, and almost laughed out loud.

She had _horrible_ drawing skills. Nothing on Angela, or even my mom, whom I'd seen draw blueprints more than once.

But it was... legible? Can drawings be legible? I could interpret it, anyhow.

A bunch of animals- bear, leopard, deer, peacock- sat together, mostly stuck to each other. A gorilla stood a little way away, smiling a little gorilla smile.

And a seabird was watching them from above, a very distinct blush on his cheeks.

_ Us, the freaks, _ she'd captioned, in a very untidy scrawl. _And you, the observer._

I glanced up. Banner was still teaching.

_ I'm not a seabird _ , I wrote. _And you're not a gorilla. It's the other way round._

She grinned as she read it. Infuriatingly charming, she slipped me another note.

_ I'm a gorilla. Literally stumbling through life. And you're a seabird, poking your nose where it's not needed. On a completely unrelated note, what would you want to be? _

I smiled crookedly _. Mountain lion_.

I was sort of enjoying this. Her next note put me in fits of giggling.

_ And I want to be a gazelle like Alice, but when do you get what you want in life? _ She'd drawn a pouty face next to the words, complete with antlers and gorilla hair.

Bella Cullen, I decided, had a great sense of humor.

_ It was supposed to be gazelle? _ I wrote. _I only saw a doe with antlers._

I'd hoped to make her blush, but she just rolled her eyes. _It would take more than that to embarrass me. Just ask Emmett._

I shook my head. _You're not human_ , I penned.

She laughed reading that. She was writing something when I heard it.

_ That I'm not. _

I jumped, standing up straight. Did she just... did she just say that out loud? What the-

“Any problem, Mr. Masen?” Banner called out, eyes narrowed. “Did you understand the topic...?”

“Yes, yes, sir,” I said, nodding, though I had no idea what he was talking about, absolutely none. “Um-”

“Please refrain from daydreaming in class. No matter if your grades are perfect, you are here to learn.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, sinking back into my seat. I heaved a sigh of relief when he began speaking again.

She shoved her notebook at me. _What was that all about?_

I turned towards her. _Nothing,_ I mouthed.

…

_ The bathroom, at home, this time: _

What. The. Fuck.

I had a great conversation with Bella Swan. I didn't fuck up. I didn't make her sad.

But what was that? She didn't say it. I was watching her. Her lips didn't move.

But I heard it.

Like the most natural thing in the world. Like I should've known. Like- like it had been happening all along.

Fuck what?

Was I imagining things? I didn't think so. That would be the most plausible explanation for my craziness. But I was not imagining it. I know that much.

_ Could I... hear thoughts? _

I scoffed, then banged my head against the wall. I was going crazy.

The voice sounded nothing like her, yet it was her all the same. Three words. _That I'm not._

(Do, like, count contractions as words? Dictionary needed.)

_ That I'm not _ .

She was joking, but she hadn't said it, and she hadn't written it. _But I heard it._

What was happening to me? Was I going crazy?

I let out a hysterical laugh. I felt crazy enough already.

And then there were those two people in the washroom and that artificial calm and the fisherman killed mysteriously and _I felt like a fucking murder mystery character._

I shook my head. I was not a skeptic, mostly, but this was too much. I could not be a _fucking mind reader_. I'd never even gotten a read on her the first time I'd seen her! If I read minds, if I fucking read minds, then I should know everything, right?

How crazy was this? I was freaking out over a simple sentence. She could have said it. She could have. I could have imagined... fuck no, I hadn't.

Freaking out. Like an eleven year old girl hearing about 'slot a into tab b' for the first time.

I wasn't _that much_ of a believer. God, maybe. Heaven, hopefully. Angels- I'd seen Bella Swan already.

But this? It was stupidity.

Also, there was the matter of the question she was answering. _You're not human._

_ That I'm not. _

I was joking. Of course.

Could it be that she wasn't? That sentence was said- or hell, thought- bitterly, with dry humor. Could she really not be human?

My mind flashed to the signs.

Eyes that changed color. Frozen skin. Not even appearing to be breathing.

Her wild, crazy mood swings.

If she wasn't human, then what was she?

I was fucking imagining it all. Making a damn mountain out of a molehill.

I wiped at my eyes. Turning the faucet on, I splashed water onto my face. I was not a murder mystery character. This was life. I was a believer but I was not fucking stupid enough to believe this mad- this crazy, insane thing that I had most likely imagined to explain everything that was weird about Bella Swan.

And that killing of the fisherman mom complained about everyday...

And the calm and those two people in the bathroom...

“I'm not fucking crazy!” I yelled. “This is not happening to me!”

I slumped to the floor.

I was crazy. This was happening to me.

“Bella Cullen,” I whispered, clinging to the name in desperation. “Bella Cullen. Bella fucking Cullen... Bella.”

She was not normal. And she won't tell anyone how.

If so, that secret had to be important. Bella Cullen seemed like such an open book otherwise.

I wasn't sure about the 'not human' part. Could they all be angels.

I swore, loudly. I'd keep going around in circles like this forever.

As soon as I swore to find out that secret, her face crept unbidden into my thoughts.

_ I'm a gorilla. Literally stumbling through life. And you're a seabird, poking your nose where it's not needed. _

No. I won't find it out.

If she had a secret, I decided, I was gonna let her keep it.

But I had that secret too. Hearing thoughts... going crazy...

Imagination, I decided. I was having fun for the first time in forever, so I went overboard and cooked up something for me to have even more fun.

Funny, how easily the brain convinces itself to believe something it has decided to believe.

Five minutes more, and I was sure everything had been a figment of my imagination.

…

_ On the phone: _

“Hello?”

“Yo, Chief Mason!” boomed the musical voice on the other side. “Esme's out, but we're free to talk anyway!”

It felt like when this guy said something, exclamation marks would automatically be added onto even the most docile of statements.

I made a wild guess at who it was.

“Emmett Cullen?” I tried, hoping it wasn't Jasper or the dad, or worse, one of the girls. “It's not mom.”

“Oh, hi, not mom! Are you a patient stealing the Chief's phone and want Carlisle?”

I decided I liked this guy, even if his humor was just annoying.

“I'm Edward Masen. Chief Mason's son.”

“Oh.” There was some weird hissing on his end. “Well, Bella's out too, but I could, uh, tell you her number.”

“I don't- hey, how'd you know I wanted to talk to Bella?”

I was glad he couldn't see me blush.

“Dude, she talks about you too, you know. First love...” He trailed off, and there was another banging sound. “Anyway, who else would you be calling?”

He had a point.

“It's not first love,” I corrected, “but I'd love to talk to her.”

He listed off her number. I scrawled it on a piece of paper.

“Hey,” I said, when he was done, “Emmett, do I really sound that much like my mom?”

There was a booming laugh, and the line cut off.

…

_ On the phone. _ Again _:_

I was tired of calling people. Face to face conversation always worked so much better.

“Hi, Bella,” I said, trying to work up my courage. “Um, it's Edward. Masen. Uh, from-”

“Biology. Yeah. I know you.” She sounded amused. “How many other Edwards do you think live in town?”

I sighed. “Exactly none, Bella. It's nice to hear your voice again.”

“Oh. Yes. Uh, writing is my preferred mode of communication.” She chuckled. “Not that I'm writer- just, you know, a reader. That particular job goes to Jasper.”

“Jasper writes? I mean, of course, he can write, like, he could, but- um, he just looks like a sports guy to me.”

What was I doing? It wasn't Jasper I was crushing on, for fuck's sake.

“Oh yeah. Him and Rose, they make a great writing team. He gets the idea, she embellishes it. He finds the words, she beautifies them. Basically, a book written by Jasper would be a crude manuscript, and a book written by Rosalie would a polished version of nothing.” She paused. “Sorry. I'm sure my stupid siblings are not what you want to talk about. So, what is it, Edward Masen?”

I felt like I was choking. Emmett's voice rang in my ears. _“First love...”_

“WillyoumeetmeatWaylon'sforacupofcoffeelikenow?” I blurted.

“I'm sorry, what?”

“Uh- will you meet me at Waylon's for a cup of coffee today? Like, it's just the evening, not for dinner, it's early yet, not... sorry, I'm rambling.”

“Like a... date?”

I smacked my head. “No, just... I didn't listen to mitosis, at all. Banner set us that paper, and I'm not great at biology anyhow... I was hoping you'd help me. We could submit it. Together.”

Please say yes, please say yes, I chanted. Please say yes...

“That sounds great to me. I'll be there in... an hour?”

“An hour,” I confirmed, ridiculously happy. As if... As if in that instant, I was just a normal teenage boy about to hang out with his crush. “I'll pay.”

“No chance, pretty boy.”

“Yes chance.”

“Fine. Chance. Rock paper scissor to decide.”

I giggled. _Giggled._ “Okay. I'll have you know I'm a champion at rock paper scissor.”

“I'll have you know that so am I.”

“I don't doubt it.”

“You should not.” I could practically hear her smile into the phone. “See you in an hour, pretty boy.”

__


End file.
